


Not Your Fault

by Oliver__Niko



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:46:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oliver__Niko/pseuds/Oliver__Niko
Summary: After being abused by his father, Billy heads outside for a mindless walk. Steve Harrington comes across him, able to put two and two together about what has happened, which leads to unexpected comfort and an equally unexpected offer.





	Not Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my first work for this fandom! It's always nerve-wrecking writing for something new for the first time, but it's exciting too. Thank you to my best friend Jess (giraffewrites) for introducing me, AKA dragging me down into hell.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

_Here we go again._

Perhaps those words should not be thought so frequently by Billy. Perhaps they are too simple, too underwhelming, to describe the fear which consumes every cell in his body. The way his mouth becomes dry, his heart beats so fast that it aches, the goosebumps which form across bruised skin. All of it, every bit of it, should never be shrugged off so simply. But that is what happens when this way of life has become so normal for you.

He stumbles back when the punch across his face is a little more forceful than intended. His hand plants against the wall to catch himself, the inside of his cheek split open by teeth biting down onto it. But he does not hesitate to look back at Neil. Hesitating is never good; it’s a sign of disrespect, and even if Billy would love more than anything to avoid those cold, piercing eyes, he knows better than to show any sign of weakness.

Neil already calls him weak enough as it is. To give into that claim would only make things worse, not to mention how a predator always enjoys meeting the eyes of their prey. You can try to conceal emotions as much as you can. But you cannot stop your body’s own reactions; the way your pupils dilate from fear, the cold beads of sweat trickling down paled skin.

Billy gasps out as a knee hits into his stomach. As he falls down onto his own knees, a hand is tangling into his hair. He winces at the sting in his scalp as his head is forced back. Tears prick his eyes, but he forces them not to fall as he looks back at Neil.

“You understand now, don’t you, faggot?” Neil asks. The tranquil rage is far more frightening than any shouting could be. His grip grows tighter, Billy forcing himself to not cry out, to not do any more than hiss. “Answer me.”

“Yes, sir,” says Billy quietly. He is unable to conceal his flinch as Neil edges a little closer to him.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Yes. Sir,” Billy repeats, louder and slower. A tense moment of silence as the two look into each other’s eyes. Then Billy is tossed to the side by his hair, hands scraping across the floor. By now, he cannot look at Neil. He has to wait until the other has finally left. That is when he allows the tears in his eyes to fall.

His arm lashes out with a cry, knocking over a chair nearby. The crash to the floor is satisfying, but it’s nowhere near enough. Billy gets up on shaking legs. His eyes glance around, cursing himself for living in such a shithole – having expensive, fragile items to break would be much more rewarding, but of course his life doesn’t have luxuries like _that._ He makes do with what there is around him, mindlessly knocking off objects, throwing things against the wall; one dents, which he’ll probably get into even more trouble for, yet he doesn’t care.

His mind is completely blank, except for one brief thought; what will Max think when she returns home? He worries for a moment so quick it is gone by the time he blinks. His mind is too full of rage, resentment and, most soul-crushing of all, the hatred and disappointment he feels towards _himself._

Billy finds himself in the bathroom moments later. His eyes stare at his reflection. He hadn’t even realised he is still crying, his face now flushed. Averting his gaze to his locks of hair, messy and tangled from the beating, he finds himself filled with a newfound hatred. Faggot. Queer. All because of what he does, how he cares for his appearance and any other stupid, meaningless reason for Neil to despise him.

His hands have grabbed a pair of scissors before his mind has even processed it. He slides the blades over a few locks, cutting them away. Blond strands dance to the floor. But as he wedges the scissors between his hair once again, he stops. What good will this do? Neil will insult him either way, beat him until he’s black and blue. How would this help that at all? His appearance is the one thing that Billy _tries_ to feel pride over. If he hands that pride over to Neil as well, that’s it. He has nothing else to fight with.

The scissors are placed back down on the side of the sink with a shaking hand. He needs to get out of here. He doesn’t care where he goes; inside this place, he is suffocating, the walls seeming like they’re closing in on him. He has to get out and he has to do so _now._

Wind crashes against him as he exits the house. He locks the door before walking aimlessly down the pavement. He shivers, realising he probably should have put on a jacket, but he has little motivation to return and pick one up.

His eyes glance up at the sky above him. The sun is setting by now. Hues of orange, pink and blue blend together in the sky, painting the clouds which drift by. It’s pretty, but Billy still has to look away. His mind often replays the moment he looked out of the window at the sunset, as Neil hurt him as he always does. Your mind curses you when it decides to correlate two things which certainly don’t relate to each other at all.

Either people who look at him simply don’t care, or perhaps they think that the injuries on his face are from him acting like a typical brute and getting himself into a fight. Theoretically, he _has_ just been in one. It is simply one-sided every time.

Dizziness takes over his mind eventually, causing him to sit down on a bench nearby. He takes out a lighter and cigarette, feeling pathetic over how even now, his hands _still_ tremble slightly. How pathetic. It is almost as pathetic as the tears which threaten him again. He leans back on the bench and allows his mind to lose itself.

He’s not sure how long he sits out there before one of the people passing by finally stops. He doesn’t look at them, too distracted to focus his eyes on anyone, although his ears _do_ pick up a voice he hasn’t expected to hear.

“Hargrove? What’re you doing here?”

Billy eyes fall down on Steve standing nearby. It’s hard to make out his expression. Some kind of cross between concerned and confused?

“It’s you,” Billy says, flicking the cigarette to the floor. His boot steps down onto it. “What’re you up to all on your own? Gonna go whine over Wheeler to take you back?”

Perhaps Steve is able to sense that Billy’s words are pretty forced. Hell, even Billy can tell despite how foggy his mind is right now. He stares in bewilderment as Steve sits down on the bench next to him, staring at his face and not even trying to be subtle about it.

“Did you get into a fight?” he asks. Billy shrugs, resting his arms behind his head.

“Something like that.” He glances at Steve, who is still looking at him with that questioning look in his eyes. “ _What?_ You obsessed with me or something?”

Yet he knows exactly why Steve is looking at him that way, and knowing that causes his voice to crack. He curses mentally at himself. And moments later, he’s getting up off the bench, not taking a single glance at Steve.

“Forget it, I’m gonna head back.”

“Wait!” Steve says quickly. Now on his own feet, he has reached out to take hold of the bottom of Billy’s T-shirt. The latter turns around in surprise. “Do you, uh … Do you want to come back to my place?”

‘ _Huh?’_ Billy thinks to himself, stunned. “Well well Harrington, are you a fag after –”

“Quit it with the tough act,” Steve interrupts, Billy’s mouth hanging open. “Something’s going on and it wouldn’t sit right leaving you on your own, plus it’s cold as hell out here. That’s all.”

Billy finds it difficult to move even after Steve has let go of him. He’s confused and unsure over what to think. The most concern he has ever received over Neil’s abuse is from Susan. But even then, she does nothing to try and stop it, simply watching on. Aside from that, which if anything makes him feel worse rather than better, he has always been alone.

And here, someone who is supposed to be his enemy is addressing this more than anyone has ever done, despite not even knowing the full story.

It makes Billy feel vulnerable. It makes him feel as though yet another person will take advantage of his emotions. Yet it’s also welcoming, as much as he hates himself for that. He can feel his walls beginning to crumble bit by bit.

That is likely why he says, “Fine, whatever. I guess I wouldn’t mind seeing what kind of place the pretty boy lives in.”

What appears to be relief appears on Steve’s face. He nods, gesturing to his right. “My place is down that way.”

Billy attempts to think of another comment to make, but the way that Steve avoids any bait and acts the most mature of the two makes Billy reach a blank. Instead, he follows Steve silently, unsure of how he feels about any of this.

 

* * *

 

The walk is silent and stupidly awkward. Usually, Billy has all the words in the world he can use against Steve. But that is always because he is confrontational. Now the two are walking together normally, it’s difficult to think of a single word to say.

Instead, Billy inspects the area around them, which now stands under a night sky. It seems as though the houses are getting more and more elegant and clearly more expensive as time goes on. Insecurity, another emotion Billy hates, finds him. Everything here is a thousand times better than what he and Max have to put up with.

It doesn’t stop there, either. Steve’s house turns out to be insane. It’s huge, far huger than anywhere he has stayed, and it even has a _pool._ Billy has only ever seen people in movies have those. Clearly, a little awe must be on his face, for Steve has a smirk on his face for the first time.

“Admit it,” says Steve. “You’re impressed, aren’t you?”

“Shut it, Harrington,” Billy responds. The lack of denial says a lot. Steve’s grin grows, before he is guiding Billy inside. He shuts the door after themselves.

“My parents aren’t home,” says Steve.

“Now you’re _seriously –_ ”

“Which I thought I’d say, because I thought you might not want anyone else questioning your face.” Steve watches as Billy holds a hand up to his cheek without even thinking about it, the former’s eyebrows furrowing. “You gonna tell me what’s going on with that?”

“I don’t think it’s any of your damn business.”

“If you don’t want anyone to know about your business, then why the hell would you say yes to coming to my house?”

Billy can’t find an answer. Steve sighs, gesturing to the hall in front of him. “Come to the kitchen. I need a drink.”

Billy does so, glancing at the walls as they walk through the hall. Photographs hang on them. It’s a common family thing to do that – there used to be photographs like that too at home, many years ago. But not a single one has hung on the walls for a long time.

The kitchen is also huge, as expected. Or at least, far larger than what Billy has become accustomed with. Steve leans down to grab two cans out of the fridge. He tosses one to Billy, who frowns a little when he sees that it’s a can of beer. Though he’ll drink alcohol for show, really, his past with Neil makes him not all that fond of it.

But like hell he’s going to show that in front of Steve Harrington. He opens the can, taking a sip alongside Steve.

“I didn’t expect to see you alone out there,” says Steve after gulping down the beer.

“I could say the same about you.”

“Went out to get some cigarettes. Sitting on a bench alone didn’t seem like your style.”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Billy takes another sip of the beer. Why is he even bothering?

Although his attention is driven away from his drink when Steve places his can down. He is turned to Billy, looking more serious. “Look, I’m not stupid. Someone did that, didn’t they? Probably your old man or some shit.”

Billy blinks, his momentary silence likely saying more than words would. He tries and tries to work up the words to deny it, but instead, finds himself asking, “How’d you guess?”

“‘Something like’ a fight, the way you seemed vulnerable. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

“I’m not _vulnerable.”_

“We all are, sometimes.” Steve taps his finger against the can in his hand. “And I think that getting beaten by your dad is a fair reason to be that way.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this, Harrington,” Billy says, placing his can down forcefully. He stares at Steve, unable to put up his front any longer. “I’d kill you if you did. People eat gossip like that for breakfast, and if Neil finds out –”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Steve interrupts. “I’m not shitty enough of a person to do that. I’ve done a lot of things that I regret and I don’t plan on making this another one of those things.” He moves away from the counter, gesturing to the doorway. “Come on, we should clean you up.”

Billy goes to protest, but once again, finds that he is unable to. He is standing in the bathroom with Steve moments later. The latter is running a flannel under warm water. Billy sits on the edge of the bath, expecting the flannel to be handed to him, but instead, Steve places a hand on Billy’s shoulder and leans down in order to start wiping away the dried blood on Billy’s face.

He is frozen. Not only can he not comprehend Steve being this close, the way it strangely causes his heart to stop, but he also cannot remember the last time someone had been this gentle to him. His throat closes up and aches, as though he is going to do something stupid like cry.

Crying over Steve Harrington wiping blood off his face. That’d be something else to feel humiliated over.

“Does this happen a lot?” Steve ends up asking, apparently not fazed by his own actions. The actions which are bringing Billy’s walls down further.

“I guess.”

“Why does he hurt you?”

Billy shrugs. “I think there’s nothing about me which he doesn’t hate. Can’t say I blame him.”

Steve moves back a little, seeming surprised. “You know that this isn’t your fault, right?”

“You sure?” Billy laughs humourlessly. “I’m a piece of shit.”

“I think anyone who hits their own son is the piece of shit,” says Steve, rinsing the flannel out in the sink. “But that’s just me.”

Silence falls as Steve places the flannel to one side. He even goes as far as to wipe away the water from Billy’s face with a towel. The kindness is causing Billy’s heart to swell again, yet his mind to also grow more confused.

And it manages to somehow do so even more when Steve asks, “Do you want to spend the night here? I have a guest room.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No, I’m not.”

Billy stares at him, before sighing and getting to his feet. “Something’s up with you tonight, clearly. Max is probably gonna get home from her friends soon.”

“I could call and ask if she can stay over,” Steve suggests. “If you’re fine with that.”

Natural instincts make Billy almost say no, that Max certainly shouldn’t be staying at any of those boys’ houses, that she needs to come straight home. But the offer is far more tempting than he’d like to admit. He hates the thought of going back out there, returning to the house which brings him nothing but misery and the reminder that no matter how far he is from his father, he will constantly be a victim of his abuse.

He hates all of it. Yet he hates this side of Steve a lot less. And so he says, “Fine, whatever,” without looking at Steve in the eye.

Relief once again washes over Steve. A hand is placed on Billy’s shoulder for a moment before Steve leaves the bathroom, presumably to go and make that phone call.

The brief yet warming touch lingers on Billy’s shoulder. The more he thinks about it, the more he feels something unfamiliar stir in his chest, and the more he wonders if his pride will allow him to thank Steve Harrington.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little thing! I hope to create more for them, and Stranger Things in general, soon, including art as well. My Tumblr is skia-wolf, Twitter is SkiaWolf and Instagram is skia_wolf if you'd like to follow and/or ramble about Harringrove headcanons with me.


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